


Maybe Someday

by Ludwiggle73



Series: The Sad Dad Collection [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Childhood, Father England (Hetalia), Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Homelessness, Implied Sexual Content, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:41:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13787997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludwiggle73/pseuds/Ludwiggle73
Summary: Here is what happened on the worst day of Peter Kirkland's life, as told by Peter Kirkland.





	Maybe Someday

I wake up before Daddy. When I was a baby he woke me up every morning, but now I’m six and I wake up first. The way we sleep is stacked, me on Daddy on the blanket on the ground. I sleep wrapped up in Daddy’s coat, but sometimes when it’s really cold and Jack Frost comes, Daddy and I both get wrapped in the blanket. One night last year, I crawled under Daddy’s shirt so I had my shirt, Daddy’s shirt, Daddy’s coat, and the blanket—that’s four layers. Daddy’s chest was warm and I liked that but he didn’t smell very nice so that bit was bad. I tried to stay awake and see Jack, but I fell asleep. I always fall asleep.

It’s dark when I wake up. The sun is still asleep. It’s summer, I like summer best because the dark is shorter and it’s warm. Daddy has scratchy hairs on his cheek, I don’t like to touch them. I poke at his eyebrows instead, there’s a lot to poke.

“Daddy.”

He groans and opens his eyes. They’re green, mine are blue. I wish mine were green.

“Here we go round the mulberry bush,” I say.

Daddy still looks tired even though he was asleep. He always looks tired mostly. He groans again when he gets up. He puts on his coat, folds up our blanket, and stuffs it in a gap between two stones. The gap is dark, so it’s hard to see the blanket. The stones are in the wall under the bridge. Daddy says we’re trolls, like the one that lives under the bridge and eats goats named Billy. I’ve never seen any goats, but maybe someday.

Our bridge is in the park. Daddy follows the path, but I run ahead and do laps around the hedges, for exercise. Daddy says the rhyme while I run.

 

_“Here we go round the mulberry bush,_

_The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush._

_Here we go round the mulberry bush_

_On a cold and frosty morning.”_

 

It’s not cold and frosty this morning. Jogging is good for warming up and keeping fit.

I stop running at the fountain, I’m all out of breaths. Daddy sits on the edge and dips a bit of cloth into the water, then rubs it over my cheeks and my nose and my forehead.

 

_“This is the way we wash our face,_

_Wash our face, wash our face._

_This is the way we wash our face_

_On a cold and frosty morning.”_

 

When I’m clean, Daddy washes his own face, it sounds bristly.

“Your whiskers are scritchy.”

“I know. I’ll shave them tonight.”

“Will I get whiskers, Daddy?”

“No. You’re too young.”

“When I’m seven?”

“No. When you’re older.”

I can count further than seven but I can’t think further. “Maybe someday.”

“That’s right.”

 

* * *

 

When we have money we get breakfast, but we don’t have any today, so the morning is really long. My belly used to hurt lots, but now it doesn’t so much. I think it’s because I’m older. Daddy is really old and I don’t think he’s ever hungry because even when we both get food he gives me some of his. We hold hands when we walk on the streets because there are lots of people and we could get separated. Some people move away from us when they walk by. Maybe it’s because Daddy smells bad again but I can’t tell.

“How old are you, Daddy?”

He looks down at me, his eyes still look tired. “Guess.”

I think about it. “Fifty.”

“Peter!” He laughs, I love when Daddy laughs. “Aim lower.”

I think even harder now. “Forty.”

“Lower.”

“Thirty?”

“A little lower.”

“Twenty!”

“Twenty-three.” He isn’t smiling anymore.

We go by a church, it has loud bells and lots of people, and a piano is playing. I’ve seen the church with lots of people before, but never like this. We can’t get close, but the door is up some steps so I see a lady in a white dress and a man in black beside her. They’re smiling, and everyone claps and throws white powdery stuff on them.

“What are they doing?” I ask.

Daddy’s face looks a bit strange. “They’re getting married. It’s a wedding.”

“Oh.” They look happy, everyone is smiling. “Will you get married?”

Daddy snorts. He smiles too, but not happily. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

 

_“Needles and pins, needles and pins_

_When a man marries,_

_His trouble begins.”_

 

“Oh.” I wonder what it would be like to have a Daddy _and_ a Mummy, a Mummy as pretty and happy as the one in the church. I guess I have a Mummy somewhere, doesn’t everyone have one? But I don’t know where. There are some things I’m not allowed to ask Daddy about, and I’m pretty sure that’s one of them.

 

* * *

 

Lunch is chicken soup, nice ladies give us trays with a bowl of soup, a roll, and a cup of tea. They smile at me when they ask how I like mine and I tell them with milk and sugar. Daddy gets milk in his and we sit in the corner, away from everyone else. There are lots of long tables in here, and nearly everyone is a man. I’m the only kid, which is too bad. Sometimes I wish I had someone to play with.

“Do you like the soup?” Daddy asks me.

“Yes, it’s yummy.” I’m extra hungry from no breakfast, all I have left is some tea.

“Here.” Daddy moves my bowl and sets his own on my tray. “I don’t really like it.”

I slurp up his soup too, and we finish our tea and leave. A lot of men sit around and talk, eating slowly so they don’t have to go. It might be interesting to stay and talk to them, but Daddy never wants to. I don’t think he likes being around people, except me.

After lunch, we go for a stroll. We look in all the shop windows. We both like the bakery full of wonderful buns and bread and cookies. Daddy’s favorite is the shop with mannequins in the window, I think they’re creepy but Daddy says he’s not looking at them, he’s looking at the clothes. I point to one.

“That one’s getting married!”

Daddy looks at it. “Yes, it’s in a suit. Or perhaps that’s a tuxedo.” He squints. “I can’t tell.”

“Have you ever worn a tuxedo?” I like that word, it’s fun on my tongue.

“Once.” The shop man inside is waving at us but not in a nice way. Daddy holds my hand tighter and we walk away.

Then it’s my favorite, the toy shop! Lots of cars and aeroplanes, and dollies and a rocking horse and the best of all, a big boat hanging from the ceiling. I press my face against the glass, looking at all the colors. There’s a little girl inside, she doesn’t look at me, she’s holding two stuffies, a cat and a dog. She’s crying, her face all red. She has a Daddy and a Mummy. The Mummy looks angry, but the Daddy gives money to the man behind the counter, and the girl stops crying.

“Spoiled,” Daddy says. He pulls me back and wipes away the mark my nose left on the window.

“What’s spoiled?” We’re walking away, but I keep looking back. The colors . . .

“That girl is spoiled. She gets everything she wants.”

“Is that bad?”

“Yes. People shouldn’t get everything they want. They should be given what they need, and they should work for what they want.”

It didn’t look bad to me, since it made her happy, but sometimes it’s good not to argue with Daddy.

Last is the pet shop. Just inside the window is a pen with four puppies in it. Three are brown and fuzzy, but one is white with black ears. It looks out at me, and I wave to it. Its belly is fat and it has a fluffy tail. I want it even more than the boat.

I look up at Daddy. “That’s the best puppy. See him?”

He peers through the glass. “The white one? Yes, he’s cute, but we have to go.”

I forgot, today is an Al Day. I hate Al Days. I don’t want to go, but I wave goodbye to my puppy and walk along beside Daddy.

 

* * *

 

While we’re walking, a miracle happens.

There’s paper, but it’s money paper, caught in the cobbles. I let go of Daddy’s hand and dive for it.

“Daddy! Look!”

Daddy takes the paper from me, looks it over, then gives me a big tight hug. I hug him too, and he smiles and says, “You’ve got excellent eyes, Peter. Thank God for them.” He folds the paper carefully and tucks it into the pocket of my trousers. “Here, keep your hand around it. Don’t take your hand out of your pocket. We’ll spend it later.”

I skip along beside Daddy, holding the miracle money with one hand and his fingers with my other. Then I get the best idea ever. “Wait! If we go back to the pet shop, we can use it to buy my puppy!”

Daddy doesn’t stop walking, even though the pet shop is the other way. “No, Peter, we can’t buy the puppy. We have to buy food, that’s more important. If we can’t feed ourselves, how can we feed a puppy? Listen, I’ll get you a lolly on the way home, wouldn’t you like that?”

“No! I don’t want a lolly!” I stop walking, dig in my feet. “Al will give you money, so we’ll have extra to buy the puppy! We’ll still get food! And the puppy can eat your food, you always give it to me, so give it to him instead!”

Daddy stops walking too, and looks down at me. He’s never looked at me like this before. I think he’ll hit me, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t yell, either. He just shakes his head and walks away, yanking me after him.

I try to slow him down, but he’s too strong. So I tell him, “I hate you.”

He doesn’t look at me.

I hate him even more.

 

* * *

 

Al’s house is ugly, and it smells really bad. Daddy goes to him a couple of times a week. There’s rubbish everywhere in the kitchen, and you have to go through the bedroom to get to the bathroom. Daddy carries me and tells me I’m supposed to keep my eyes closed. Once I opened them by accident and saw naked ladies on the wall. Now I keep my eyes shut tight.

Daddy fixes my bath and puts me in the water. I still hate him. Daddy stands up. “I’ll wash your hair after.”

“I don’t want it washed.” But I do, it feels yucky. I’ll wash it myself.

Daddy looks away, sighing. “Maybe someday,” he says, “you’ll understand.”

I glare at him.

He turns to walk out.

I don’t want to say it, but I do anyway. “Say the rhyme.”

He pauses, glances over his shoulder.

 

_“Bye, baby Bunting,_

_Daddy’s gone a-hunting,_

_Gone to get a rabbit skin_

_To wrap the baby Bunting in.”_

 

I sink into the bubbles. “Bye.”

Daddy smiles, just a tiny one. He looks so sad. “Bye. I love you.”

I don’t say it back.

He leaves, the door closes behind him.

If I’m extra quiet, I can hear him and Al talking. Al is American, which means he talks funny.

“You ever gonna stop bringin’ that kid in here?”

“We’ve been over this, Allan. I have nowhere to leave him.”

“Yeah, well, stop using my girlfriend’s shampoo. She’s already suspicious.”

“Sorry. You know how grateful I am—”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“. . . How much can you spare today?”

“Jesus Christ, I ain’t a bank. If I wanted to pay for sex, I’d get a hooker. I’m expectin’ you to pay me back.”

“Yes, I know, and I will, just as soon as—”

“As soon as what? Money starts fallin’ from the sky?”

I can’t hear what Daddy says to that.

“What a little slut you are. Can’t even get through a goddamn conversation without you goin’ for my cock.”

Then there’s no more talking, just grunting and groaning. Then a creaky metal noise, over and over again. Al growls some naughty words. I cover my ears. It always goes on forever, then it goes quiet, and Daddy comes back and washes my hair, and we leave.

Tonight, there’s the noise of a door closing. Then a lady’s voice, one I’ve never heard before, screaming: “WHAT THE FUCK?! WHO THE FUCK IS THAT IN MY BED?! I KNEW YOU WERE CHEATING ON ME, BUT YOU’RE DOING IT WITH A MAN?! OH MY GOD!”

Everyone is shouting over each other. I can’t understand any of it, and I’m scared and I want Daddy to come in here right now, but the door stays closed and they’re shouting and then there’s the loudest _BANG_ I’ve ever heard. I think the whole house might fall down.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you _shot_ him!”

“Oh Jesus, oh fuck—I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, oh my—”

“We gotta get rid of the body—wait. Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“The kid.”

_“What kid?”_

Footsteps. I try to hide under the bubbles, but my heart is beating too fast, I know they’ll hear it.

The door opens. Al looks at me. There’s a woman behind him, she starts saying bad words again. Al rubs a hand over his face, then steps inside and holds up a towel. “Get outta there, kid. I gotta take you somewhere. Uh. The hospital. I’m gonna take you to the hospital.”

I don’t want to stand up, strangers aren’t supposed to see me without clothes. “I don’t want to go to the hospital. I’m not ill. I want Daddy.”

Al turns his face away for a second, swiping at his eyes. “Fuckin’ Christ, kid.” His voice is shaky. “Just get up and come on. You can’t stay here. I’ll dry you off—”

“I want Daddy to do it.”

“He can’t!” Al is shouting. “He can’t, alright? He’s gone. He—he already left. I’m gonna, uh, take you to where he went. To the hospital. He got hurt, and he’s waiting for you.”

Was the big noise Daddy getting hurt? I don’t want to be here anymore. I stand up slowly, but Al grabs me and sets me on the floor. Water and bubbles are everywhere, Al rubs the towel too rough and it hurts and I start to cry.

Al is rough when he dresses me, too. Some of me is still wet, and my clothes stick and feel gross. I don’t like it, but Al doesn’t stop. I want to tell him to wait, because my hair never got washed, but it’s all going too fast. He picks me up and carries me quick through the bedroom. I forget to close my eyes.

There’s blood all on the bed, and Daddy is there without clothes.

The lady grabs the blanket to cover Daddy, except his head. It’s on the pillow. He slept through the big noise?

“Daddy,” I say.

He doesn’t move. Al is walking away.

“Daddy!” I say, louder.

Al carries me away.

“Daddy, wake up! Stop, Daddy is there! DADDY!”

 

* * *

 

I’m in a place called a foster home, now. Al left me at the hospital, and nice nurses talked to me. Then nice policemen talked to me. I kept telling them I knew where Daddy was, so they let me show them Al’s house. They looked all around, but Daddy wasn’t there. Then they put handcuffs on Al and put him in the back of a police car. I don’t know what happened to him.

I have a foster daddy and a foster mummy. They’re nice. There are other kids here, too, younger and older than me. We play sometimes. They’re fun, but none of them know any rhymes.

I keep asking when Daddy will come, but no one will tell me. I heard my foster parents talking at the table one night when I went to the bathroom. They were saying things like _When will we tell him the truth?_ and _He’s a little boy, he shouldn’t have to live with it now. Tell him when he’s older._

When I’m seven? No, I remember—older means more than seven. I still don’t know what happened to Daddy. But when he comes back, I’ll show him all the wonderful things: my own bed, and my new clothes, and the chest full of toys we all play with. Daddy can share my bed, and we’ll eat all the good food here, and I’ll use the money I kept in my pocket and I’ll buy my puppy. I’ll get big and strong and I’ll get a job like my foster daddy and make lots of money and buy Daddy a tuxedo. I’ll have a real Daddy and a real Mummy and we’ll be happy. He said he wouldn’t get married, but you never know.

Maybe someday.

 

 

 

_The End._


End file.
